Post by ∬: Rafael Z. Wolfram on Oct 7, 2008 14:15:02 GMT
OOC: Just wanted to say, Gerwulf didn’t try to shove you to your knees, it was one of the infantryman. Wolfram gave him the order, but Gerwulf passed it on to an Infantryman. Sorry my post is a little short briefed also, I’m really tired at the moment…
Sturmbannführer Wolfram, feeling a little apprehensive about giving the newly Sturmscharführer his weapon back, stood there with a straight back, waiting to see what the man’s choice was. They’d been at one another’s throats for a long time now, it had only been in the past few months they’d managed to gain a suitable compliance, talk. Letters, radio calls, the works. So the Sturmbannführer was putting a lot of trust into the newly announced Sturmscharführer to make the right decision; He seemed to enjoy the uniform, that caused Rafael to grin a little, never thinking he’d see the man he’d once hated with such vengeance, proudly begin to pull together the pieces of his SS-Uniform to serve in his division.
Rottenführer Gerwulf angrily snarled beneath his breath as he felt the spit hit his face, wiping it ever so slowly to glare at the man - he didn’t like him one bit, he was almost tempted to pull out his boot knife and finish what his commander wasn’t about to do, but he soon regained his composure and stood there, watching the man he’d once shot to save Sturmbannführer Wolfram back in Africa attune to his duty. It was truly an unbelievable sight he was witnessing, as the young Rottenführer watched the Yank comment on the outfit, before spinning upon his heels to slaughter the unsuspecting crew, who seemed dazed and confused by the whole scenario unfolding before them.
The Sturmbannführer smirked; More pleased that the Sturmscharführer had stuck by his word and further still, followed his order through abundantly with ease, to then finish his ex-comrades off with the American-Hand Cannon, the colt 45; that spat chunks of scalp and brain matter a foot from off the ground from the close proximity. Ever since the Munich Riot, this was the first time Sturmbannführer Wolfram had felt quite like a king of the battlefield again, standing tall upon his glorious beast of a tank, the Panther, to oversee the errands he made being followed through. Young Gerwulf looked to his commanding Officer from afar, but Rafael avoided his gaze, knowing fully well this was nor the time or place for their loyalty and friendship to be shattered - The Sturmbannführer was playing a risky card by recruiting the brunt of a man before him, not only would he provide intelligence on Allied emplacements, but he would demoralize the British Scum by taking one of their proud appointed senior sergeants, right from under their noses. First by making them think he was killed mercilessly in action, to then spring a later surprise by having him lead an attack alongside himself upon the united-front.
Looking upon the Sturmscharführer who hailed victory from one of Hitler’s key inspiring speeches, with the infamous aspiring Seig Heil, Sturmbannführer Wolfram straightened up and slung his arm out with quite the affirmative “Seig Heil!”[/I] in return, to which he done again “Seig Heil!”, but this time a couple of the SS-Infantryman followed suit and bellowed out Sieg Heil in unison; Sturmbannführer Wolfram couldn’t help but grin widely, as everyone chanted it out for a further few more times, all in high spirits and loyal unto’ the Führer, with his ideological image of a prosperous future for the Aryan race. Kneeling down, Sturmbannführer Wolfram used his free-hand to help pride himself down from off the tank, showing that even one-handed he could take care of himself on the battlefield; A rarity for a true Officer of the ranks.
Approaching the Sturmscharführer, Sturmbannführer Wolfram stood before him, a mere foot between them. Looking the man in the eye, Rafael remembered back to the many times they’d been at one another’s throats, quite literally, so he knew the man’s expertise in the field -The , Sturmbannführer was a hard man to get. Looking down, Sturmbannführer Wolfram began to wriggle something from off of his wedding finger, his beloved silver-stirling SS thunderbolt ring, given to him for a successful commission and loyalty to the Schutzstaffel; His wedding ring had been hanging around his neck beneath the tunic for many years now. Extending his hand out to the Sturmscharführer, Rafael emotionlessly offered it to him. Rafael’s face was stone cold, which was quite intimidating. “Welcome to the Schutzstaffel, Sturmscharführer McMillan” he said in a very rugged English, that had improved over the time none the less, his hand holding forth the silver ring still, everyone watching them quietly, almost as if they were watching an initiation-service unfold before them.
Sturmbannführer Wolfram, feeling a little apprehensive about giving the newly Sturmscharführer his weapon back, stood there with a straight back, waiting to see what the man’s choice was. They’d been at one another’s throats for a long time now, it had only been in the past few months they’d managed to gain a suitable compliance, talk. Letters, radio calls, the works. So the Sturmbannführer was putting a lot of trust into the newly announced Sturmscharführer to make the right decision; He seemed to enjoy the uniform, that caused Rafael to grin a little, never thinking he’d see the man he’d once hated with such vengeance, proudly begin to pull together the pieces of his SS-Uniform to serve in his division.
Rottenführer Gerwulf angrily snarled beneath his breath as he felt the spit hit his face, wiping it ever so slowly to glare at the man - he didn’t like him one bit, he was almost tempted to pull out his boot knife and finish what his commander wasn’t about to do, but he soon regained his composure and stood there, watching the man he’d once shot to save Sturmbannführer Wolfram back in Africa attune to his duty. It was truly an unbelievable sight he was witnessing, as the young Rottenführer watched the Yank comment on the outfit, before spinning upon his heels to slaughter the unsuspecting crew, who seemed dazed and confused by the whole scenario unfolding before them.
The Sturmbannführer smirked; More pleased that the Sturmscharführer had stuck by his word and further still, followed his order through abundantly with ease, to then finish his ex-comrades off with the American-Hand Cannon, the colt 45; that spat chunks of scalp and brain matter a foot from off the ground from the close proximity. Ever since the Munich Riot, this was the first time Sturmbannführer Wolfram had felt quite like a king of the battlefield again, standing tall upon his glorious beast of a tank, the Panther, to oversee the errands he made being followed through. Young Gerwulf looked to his commanding Officer from afar, but Rafael avoided his gaze, knowing fully well this was nor the time or place for their loyalty and friendship to be shattered - The Sturmbannführer was playing a risky card by recruiting the brunt of a man before him, not only would he provide intelligence on Allied emplacements, but he would demoralize the British Scum by taking one of their proud appointed senior sergeants, right from under their noses. First by making them think he was killed mercilessly in action, to then spring a later surprise by having him lead an attack alongside himself upon the united-front.
Looking upon the Sturmscharführer who hailed victory from one of Hitler’s key inspiring speeches, with the infamous aspiring Seig Heil, Sturmbannführer Wolfram straightened up and slung his arm out with quite the affirmative “Seig Heil!”[/I] in return, to which he done again “Seig Heil!”, but this time a couple of the SS-Infantryman followed suit and bellowed out Sieg Heil in unison; Sturmbannführer Wolfram couldn’t help but grin widely, as everyone chanted it out for a further few more times, all in high spirits and loyal unto’ the Führer, with his ideological image of a prosperous future for the Aryan race. Kneeling down, Sturmbannführer Wolfram used his free-hand to help pride himself down from off the tank, showing that even one-handed he could take care of himself on the battlefield; A rarity for a true Officer of the ranks.
Approaching the Sturmscharführer, Sturmbannführer Wolfram stood before him, a mere foot between them. Looking the man in the eye, Rafael remembered back to the many times they’d been at one another’s throats, quite literally, so he knew the man’s expertise in the field -The , Sturmbannführer was a hard man to get. Looking down, Sturmbannführer Wolfram began to wriggle something from off of his wedding finger, his beloved silver-stirling SS thunderbolt ring, given to him for a successful commission and loyalty to the Schutzstaffel; His wedding ring had been hanging around his neck beneath the tunic for many years now. Extending his hand out to the Sturmscharführer, Rafael emotionlessly offered it to him. Rafael’s face was stone cold, which was quite intimidating. “Welcome to the Schutzstaffel, Sturmscharführer McMillan” he said in a very rugged English, that had improved over the time none the less, his hand holding forth the silver ring still, everyone watching them quietly, almost as if they were watching an initiation-service unfold before them.
